“He met Erin then?”

  “Sure. They liked each other.”

  “What about before him?”

  She heaved out a breath. “Look, I wasn’t promiscuous, but I dated a lot of men. I didn’t have sex with all of them. But I’m twenty-six, I was a single woman in New York.”

  “No one’s judging you. It’s routine,” Peabody told her. “Every detail can matter.”

  “All right. Okay.” Shauna shoved at her hair again. “The guy I dated before Marcus, we were together a couple months. But it just didn’t really work for me. It didn’t click, so I broke it off. He wasn’t happy about it, but I didn’t break his heart, either.”

  “Name?”

  “Jon Rierdon. He runs a home goods store on … I don’t remember.”

  “That’s good enough.”

  “Hell, how far back should I go? If I track back to high school, there’s Greg.”

  Becca let out a quick laugh, then immediately winced. “I’m sorry, so sorry. I didn’t mean to laugh. Greg, Shauna, and I all went to high school together. They were an item. Actually, The Item. The homecoming queen and the quarterback. Greg and I have been cohabs for over two years.”

  “We all scattered after college. Greg and I kept in touch off and on. Then Becca and I ran into each other on the street, just hey.”

  “It turned out we lived in the same neighborhood—Shauna had just moved to the city, and we ran into each other.”

  “There were two guys in college on the serious side,” Shauna continued, “and a couple—no, three—between that and Jon. Nobody got their hearts broken.”

  “What about Erin? Exes.”

  “I know a couple, but we didn’t go into all that much. We were together, and that’s what mattered.”

  “Would you know?” Eve asked Angie.

  “Yeah, probably. I could give you ones I do know, but another thing I know. Erin didn’t love anyone she was with before. Liked, was attracted to, enjoyed. But she didn’t love until Shauna.”

  “Names would help, just to eliminate. Then we’ll let you go. If you think of anything else, or have any questions, you can contact me or Detective Peabody. It would also help if you give us access to where you lived with Erin.”

  “You can have it. I don’t want to go back there, not yet.” Her lips trembled. “Maybe not ever.”

  “You’ll stay with me. I’ve got room.” Angie took her hand again. “As long as you need.”

  Chapter Three

  When Eve judged she’d gotten all she’d get from the three women, she let them go.

  “Go home, hit the rack. We’ll meet up at the vic’s apartment at oh-eight hundred. See if Feeney can spare McNab to check out the e’s.”

  “Can do.” Peabody rubbed her tired eyes. “Are you heading out, too?”

  “I want a word with the sweepers and Crack, then yeah.”

  As they stepped back into the club area, Eve looked around. The women, ringed around Shauna like a security team, filed out. “Nothing more we can do here tonight.”

  After consulting with the sweepers, she walked to the rear door, stepped out.

  She scanned the short alley, where two white-suited sweepers filtered through the contents of the recycling bin.

  So easy, Eve thought.

  Just somebody turning into the alley on a hot, damp summer night, carrying a black case. Had she already given them the swipe?

  Probably, she thought. Most likely, since she’d had company on that bathroom trip roughly an hour and fifteen minutes before TOD.

  But why? If she’d wanted someone to bring it in that way, why not just go to the back door at some point, take the case? Thanks, pal.

  Can’t say, she concluded. But if that had been the plan, it hadn’t worked.

  Either way, she’d given that case and access to the privacy room to someone she knew. Trusted.

  Either way, her killer had been in the room. Maybe they’d convinced her to let them go in with her. Or they’d waited for her in the room.

  Eve stepped back in.

  “Waiting inside. She couldn’t say when, for sure, she’d be able to slip away unnoticed—as proven by Decker on the john trip. Can’t ask somebody to wait in an alley indefinitely.”

  She walked down to the privacy room. Dim lights, soundproofing. Inside within seconds.

  Still, risky.

  She headed back to the club area, where only Crack and Roarke remained. They sat at the bar, and from the looks of it, had switched to water.

  “The sweepers are nearly done,” she told Crack. “Go home. They’ll secure the place, seal it.”

  “How long you shutting me down? Not giving you shit about it,” he added. “Just need to know.”

  “Keep it closed tomorrow. Give me another day on just the privacy room. If I hit on something that says longer, I’ll let you know. But I don’t see it.”

  “You gonna loop me in?”

  “No.”

  When his eyes narrowed, she narrowed her own.

  “Can’t and won’t. If we have questions you might be able to answer, we’ll ask them. If we have information I think you can expand on, I’ll ask. Otherwise, I can’t and won’t.”

  He stared down at his water, then looked at Roarke. “Hard-ass skinny white girl you hooked with.”

  “She is. And that’s one of the reasons she’ll find who killed your friend, and who used your place to do it.”

  “Guess I hear that.” He rose. “You’ll work that security bullshit up for me?”

  “I will, yes.”

  “Well, fuck it. I guess I’m going home.”

  After watching him walk out, she turned to Roarke. “Well, fuck it. I guess we’re going home, too.”

  He rose, took her hand. “You can tell me what you think on the way.”

  “Some I think, some I know,” she said as they went out where the shallow puddles had dried. And the air felt as if it had absorbed every drop of wet. “I know the killer was in the room. I think already in it when she went in. I know the killer brought in the case. I think she found a way to slip them the swipe so they could. Since she picked it up about noon, that leaves plenty of time for the handoff. That says she knew her killer, and trusted them enough with her big secret surprise. Had to, as the case didn’t have a lock.”

  She got in the car, stretched out her legs.

  “I know the killer came prepared to kill, and I think they did it quickly from behind. Plus they weren’t smart enough to take the case out with them and secure the door. Why leave the case, when that gives us something to work with? Why not secure the door so it takes longer to locate the body?”

  “Panic?” Roarke suggested.

  “That’s my initial thinking, and if so, it’s most likely a first kill. As far as we know—so that’s not in the I Know column—none of her group arrived at the D&D with the case. But without cams, no way to be sure. Plus, she could’ve given the swipe to one of them earlier.”

  “They come in the back, put the case in the room, then join the party.”

  “Possible. But then why didn’t Albright get the swipe back? Can’t ask her, so possible. Maybe one of them had something going with the vic at some point. Now she’s marrying someone else, taking them to Maui. That bitch! Or one of them wants to have a thing with Hunnicut, so wants Albright out of the way so they can move in and comfort the grieving bride.”

  “Extreme, but not unprecedented.”

  “Nope.” She rolled her shoulders in an attempt to ease the stiffness. Had little success.

  “I worked this case once—back with Feeney. A woman meets this guy at a party. They have some party talk. The guy intros her to his wife, and they all have some party talk. The woman decides the guy’s her soul mate. Consults a psychic who, for fifty bucks, confirms same. Tells her the wife will leave suddenly and clear the field. Wanting to speed things along, she throws a party, invites them and about three dozen of her friends and acquaintances. She slips into the john behind the wife, where she bashes her over the head with—I’m not making this up—a frozen round of marble rye, then drowns her in a tub filled with scented water and floating candles.”

  “Inventive.”

  “Would’ve been more so if she hadn’t stuck the bread back in the freezer. Parties are murder. Anyway, we got her.”

  Eve circled her head to release tension in her neck, with a little more success. “We’ll get this one, too. Should’ve taken the case, ditched it and the contents somewhere.”

  “If it’s one of the partygoers, it’s possible she didn’t want to be absent that long.”

  “Also possible. It would take a cold-ass mother to do the kill, then walk right back in and dance.” She closed her eyes a minute, rolled her shoulders again. “But the world’s got plenty of cold-ass mothers to go around.”

  When he drove through the gates, she let out one long, relieved breath.

  “Hunnicut gave us access to their place. I sent Reo a warrant request just to back it up, but we’ll hit that first thing. Hunnicut said nobody had keys except her and the vic.”

  “The killer could’ve made a copy along the way.”

  “Yeah, but why not just take hers once she’s dead? They took her ’link, and that tells me they’ve had some communication on it that brings the killer into the light. Take her apartment key, or if they’d copied it, they don’t wait for after the kill to get in, remove any communication. McNab will know if they did.”

  She got out of the car. “Peabody was basically asleep on her feet when I sent her home. Hell, I was getting there myself. Morning’s soon enough.”

  As they went inside, she glanced at her wrist unit. “I can get a solid three hours down. That’ll work. You’ll get less.”

  He slipped an arm around her when they started up the stairs. “I rescheduled my five A.M. I’ll take the solid three with you.”

  She tipped her head toward his shoulder. “Slacker.”

  “The privilege of being the boss.”

  “Of everything. ’Cept me.”

  In the bedroom, she stripped off her jacket, her weapon harness, and, yawning, sat to pull off her boots. “I need to talk to the victim’s parents. Maybe she told them about the big surprise. Shauna indicated they couldn’t afford it, but maybe they helped. Then there’s the artists she shared studio space with. Unless they were all at the party. Need to check that.”

  “You need to sleep first.”

  And as she stripped down, he pulled a sleep shirt over her head.

  “I do. I really do. Move over, tubby.” She nudged the sprawled cat over, then sprawled herself. Facedown.

  Roarke slid in beside her, stroked a hand down her back. Since she went under before the second stroke, he set his internal alarm, and joined her.

  * * *

  She woke to the glorious scent of coffee. Opening one eye, she saw Roarke sitting on the side of the bed with a mug in his hand.

  “Need that.”

  “I assumed you would.”

  She sat up, took the mug, gulped some down. “You’re a pretty good deal.”

  “I’m an excellent deal.”

  Since she couldn’t argue with that, she drank some more and studied him. Already dressed in one of his boss-of-the-universe suits—this one a medium gray, probably linen—with a deeper gray shirt and a perfectly knotted tie that blended the grays with a kind of—she guessed—maroon.

  He looked as fresh as a man who’d just come off a relaxing weekend at some fancy spa. Plus, he smelled really good.

  It could irritate, but she had coffee.

  “How did you manage three hours down and get showered and dressed?”

  “Efficiency. I was tempted to shower with my wife, but that would’ve led to other temptations. Neither of us have time for those temptations this morning.”

  “Really don’t. So I’m taking this coffee while I go be efficient.”

  She drank more coffee as she went in to shower.

  Between that and the beat of hot water pumping from multiple jets, her brain unclouded enough to let her go over her morning agenda.

  Though she wished for time to set up her board and book in her home office, that had to wait. Apartment first, some conversations with neighbors. Have Peabody cross-check the partygoers with the other artists—and that might add in some visits and conversations.

  The morgue. See what Morris could tell her.

  Track down where Erin had gotten the costume, and see if that led anywhere. Talk to the parents and the traveling gallery owner.

  But first, out of the shower, into the drying tube. Then more coffee.

  She tossed on a robe the color of the sea surrounding Roarke’s private island. When she stepped out, he sat, the stock junk on-screen and muted. Two domed plates sat on the table of the sitting area while the cat, on the opposite side of the room, gulped down his own breakfast.

  Roarke set his tablet aside. “Work continues apace at the Great House Project.”

  “Just what does that mean? There’s slow pace,” she said as she crossed over and filled her mug with coffee from the pot on the table. “There’s jogging pace, a run-like-hell pace. So what pace is apace when it’s one weird word? Like afoot. Whose foot is it, and why?”

  She started to lift the dome to see what he’d decided she’d have for breakfast and saw him smiling at her.

  “What?”

  “Starting the day with you is never boring.”

  He lifted the domes himself to reveal golden omelets, crisp bacon, summer berries, and flaky croissants.

  Yeah, an excellent deal, even if he’d snuck spinach into the omelet.

  “So does ‘apace’ mean ahead of schedule?”

  “It does. Still a bit of time before everything’s complete, but they can continue to move things into finished areas or where they’re storing others in the garage. I thought we’d have the garden sculpture you wanted for Mavis and the lamp you wanted for Peabody delivered next week. That way, Peabody can find the place she wants for the lamp, and we can set up the sculpture where Mavis wants it.”

  “Fine, but that takes care of the whole ‘we have to give you something for getting a house’ thing, right?”

  “It does. Though a bottle of wine when they have their housewarming, which they will, wouldn’t be amiss.”

  “There’s another.” She pointed at him. “Apace, afoot, amiss. Why the extra letter? But anyway. Gifts? Check.”

  She made a check mark in the air, then attacked the omelet. Spinach, no surprise, but plenty of cheese to smooth that out.

  “And yeah, they’re going to want to have a party. Nobody ever learns.”

  “Someone could get bashed with a frozen round of marble rye.”

  “It’s happened before,” she said darkly. “It could happen again.”

  He leaned over, kissed her. “Never boring.”

  She switched to bacon. “Then Mavis is going to pop out Number Two. Except it’s not popping. It’s this whole weird, ungodly process.”

  “Which you shouldn’t bring up over breakfast. Please God,” he added fervently.

  “And she’s already said we have to be there again.”

  “Not over breakfast. In fact, never speak of it.”

  “Wait. Does that mean we have to have one of the girl parties, another shower thing?”

  He took another bite of omelet. “Anticipating that question, I asked Peabody. She said no, as they have all the baby gear already.”

  “Thank Christ.”

  “But there should be a gift once Number Two arrives.”

  “Another gift.” It never, ever ended! “For Mavis, for the kid?”

  Roarke shot a warning stare at the cat, who’d finished his breakfast and tried a casual saunter toward theirs. “My information is a gift for Mavis would be thoughtful, one for the baby is required.”

  “Well, shit.”

  “The nursery is nearly done. Mavis and Leonardo decided on a magic theme.”

  “What, like rabbits coming out of hats?”

  “Not stage magic, darling. A magical forest theme with elves and winged faeries, friendly dragons, that sort.”

  “Oh. Yeah, that sounds like them. But like what happens to get the kid out, I’m not thinking about it yet.”

  “Well now, I had a thought—on the gift, and it would cover all of it. Though Bella’s getting a bed, and the crib and such will move to the nursery, the chair, the rainbow chair, isn’t moving. It’s Bella’s, after all, and suits her new room. A magic forest chair would suit the nursery.”

  “Huh.”

  “The same sort of chair, but with the nursery theme.”

  “That really would cover it all. Let’s do that.”

  “Mavis already has Leonardo working on the fabric design, as it’s something she wants. And he’s agreed to distract her there, run it by us, then tell her there’s a bit of a backlog, but it’ll be done by the time they bring the baby home.”

  “So another big secret surprise? Where did one of those just lead last night?”

  “We’ll keep privacy rooms and sex clubs off-limits.”

  “Fine.” Then she shrugged. “It’s a good idea.”

  “Peabody also mentioned a big-sister gift for Bella.”

  Eve’s jaw literally dropped. “Oh man, come on!”

  “I’m merely the messenger.”

  “I’ll give Peabody a damn message.” She pushed up and walked into her closet. “Do we have to do this every time Mavis decides to get knocked up? Because I’m telling you, she’s not done!”

  “Let’s not think about that, either.” As the cat rolled closer—a new tactic—Roarke pointed at him. “And don’t you think about a second breakfast, mate.”

  In the closet, Eve thought about clothes. She hated thinking about clothes, but not as much as buying gifts.

  She decided, instead of thinking, to follow Roarke’s lead. Gray trousers, a gray linen jacket. It had navy buttons, and she supposed that was supposed to mean navy pants. But screw that. She took care of the navy with a sleeveless tee, the belt, and the boots.